


Shadows of Our Souls

by GypsyMoon



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Dark glimpse into Natasha's past, Emotions, F/M, Falling Snow, Glimpses of Natasha's dark past, Heated passion, Jewelry box, Love Confessions, Mended hearts, Protective Steve Rogers, Redemption, Shields, Steve kisses Natasha, Traveling and hiding, Ultron's domain of chaos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyMoon/pseuds/GypsyMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the desolation of Ultron's reign of extinction;  Natasha discovers that she has a heart when she finds it under the shield of the man who always saw the love beyond the darkness she carried. Age of Ultron: Romangers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to Yvonne and to all Steve and Natasha fans. Thank you.

 

**Part 1**

* * *

 

The abandoned warehouse was a looming dark shape behind curtains of whiteness, uninviting and desolated. In front of main entrance gates empty military vans were parked, empty and damaged at the green camouflage paint faded underneath piles of snow.

In front of the large tires was dark and fresh blood, shifting abound as frothy swells of light streaked through gun-metal gray clouds hovering above.

The area was silent and peaceful. The harrowed sense of dread was heavy and impending, so much that Steve felt in jostle through the bones of his rib cage as he made his trek closer to the abandon building. Remaining motionless and observant this as it took him to get the clarity of his unfamiliar bearings. Steve moved quickly, his boots crunched over shards of broken glass and snow, he counted silently to himself, keeping track of the distance, but the frigid air was so biting and cold around him that it was a real test of his restraint. He'd been hiding under the shadows for too long, keeping himself neutral while allowing destruction and extinction of humanity crumble before his blue eyes. It seared him deep, giving him a taste of defeat and weakening him until he felt completely frozen, wounded and displaced. He left Manhattan, after he had been exiled and gave up his shield as a pardon of sacrifice to ensure the lives of the people he fought to protect.

For almost, three weeks, Steve had drifted and lived on cargo ships, searching for answers and redemption, but he had not been true to himself. The choices that he made through the circumstances he faced, not only rendered him to become a coward, but also a lost soul retracing the steps of his life. He was heartsick, his strength deserted him, feeling him powerless against the threats he encounters, and scarred with the guilt and grief of staring into the ghostly blue eyes of HYDRA'S killing machine: The Winter Soldier.

He felt dissected when the truth unveiled before, he felt like his heart gutted out of him, and barely alive to grasp the horrific realization that the relentless, desensitized Russian assassin staring back at him, confused and butchered was his longtime friend James Buchanan Barnes, his blood brother and light against the darkness he entered when he was forced to make the judgment calls on the battlefield.

Now, he was entering a battlefield, a conclusion of aftermath effects from his teammate's life work turned against mortality. Stark created the devastater and harvester of death- Ultron as a gift to be used to restore security in the world, but the inorganic mind of the machine became corrupted with a sense of free will, almost like it programmed all aspects of human emotion in configured metallic brain that sought to become the order against the chaos.

Rebirth of evil.

Steve had placed his trust in his teammates; defending their lives with his defiance and shield, but he underestimated the error of free will; the thing humanity ruined through the corruption of senseless greed and power. He underestimated the new world that he had woken up to; and fought every day to restore the scattered fragments of hope. He thought he could handle the mission, but the loss of trust devolved his strength.

Now, he felt betrayed and misused. His resilient heart was growing weaker. And the drive to fight was slowly fading inside the embers of resentment that within him. He was defeated.

Slowly he stalked though the obstructed area; his ears were frozen and jaw cracking against the biting cold air slashing over his face-he listened to the faint, gravelly cries echoing through the area.

"Someone is in trouble. They're in danger." he clarified. He shifted a glance, but found nothing. His lower back was still tender and throbbing with constant spasms, not enough to disrupt his focus, but just a twist of muscle and a pulsing tension in the ridges of his stiffed and bruised spine.

He had been compromised during his last battle with Ultorn's drone army, broken and thrown in concrete walls, and feeling a metal foot lodge into his bones. He felt every jolt of pain scourge through his entire being. He needed to search for the reason to put on the uniform and enter the battlefield. Discovering the hidden truths in the grayness of SHIELD and the discovery that his best friend was a mere semblance of the good man he once knew and loved as brother had made him feel the heavy burden of weight piling over his shoulders. He was shackled against a wall of a crumbling void, looking down at the stirring waves of failure and sorrow. That was worse pain his body consumed.

Steve's gaze fell to his boots for a long moment; conflict and disquiet shrouded across his chiseled and disciplined features.

He was reaching an impasse-a straight and narrow, as his aimless path brought him towards the dented steel doors of the warehouse. A shelter against the fury of the winter storm. His hand gripped the handle, and pressed his shoulder into the cold frame of the door, gritting his teeth as he slid open the door and stepped inside the vacant and unwelcoming safe house.

Steve moved fast. Despite the thralls of olden pain erupting in his system, he refused to waste another moment of wallowing in his past. He stepped cautiously, over pieces of broken glass, boots crunched as he leaned his tall, muscular form against a scuffed up table washed in pale overlay of flickering light fixtures that hung from the steel rafters above. He had set himself down in a dust covered chair, unzipped his coat and removed the apple from his pocket.

He hated being concealed away from the danger, but he knew adaption of a discreet life was now his method of survival.

As he bit into the juicy flesh of the apple, his haphazard thoughts once again began to drift and vacant ship afloat deep waters, they sunk him deep into the abyss that swallowed him. He had been coward and put up his barriers of telling Natasha the truth, or the honest words engraved over the layers of his heart. He was in love with her. As adamant as he had been to expressing that connection with him, he still fought against doubt and that he was in dire need to face Natasha and hold her in his arms.

Since the first time he saw her on the helicarrier in the leather jacket and red top, he had felt the old love-the feelings that died when he went into the ice and listened to Peggy Carter's voice fade as the radio sunk into the icy waters...he wanted to cry...his eyes were frozen as ice encased his body into a protective coffin that kept him frozen for seventy years-alone and urging to live again.

* * *

  _Natasha's visit came unexpected. "Nat?" he spoke in a strained voice, barely his normal and firm baritone. The shadows of the gym betrayed him, heart was thumping wildly against his ribs, and his massive stature of six foot two was combustion of heat. He stood in front of the column, dumbfounded and a little guarded as the hulking muscles of his torso tensed under the material of his plain white shirt. His golden unkempt hair ruffled and sloppy tendrils hooded over his broad forehead. He was frozen in her dangerous allure; his clear and icy blue eyes remained firm as he held his resistance, not letting his guard down. He knew what she was capable of, the scars she left on men's weakened hearts that were filled with the venom of her kiss. He unraveled the tape from his hands, using it as a distraction to keep himself from falling into the trance of her seduction. His soft lips pressed into a taut line. "Did Fury send you to retrieve me?" he asked, keeping the space empty between them._

___ _

_The Russian spy clicked her heels closer, invading his voice with purposeful steps, "Of course not. I came on my own terms." her full lips darkly played out her concealed intentions. Undaunted, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, and leveled her with a stern look. Her eyes flickered as she stared at the different emotions shrouding of his chiseled and sweaty face. His skin gleamed like bronze and focused eyes were shining with swirls and mixtures of cobalt and sapphire. His square jaw clenched with heaviness, and plush lips with tint of rose slacked into a serious grimace. She smirked, her green eyes twinkling, "Looks like it's just you and me, Cap."_

_Steve felt his mouth fall lamely open to the measure of enchantment in her husky voice. His eyes fully trained on her, the haze of exhaustion dissolved his long lashes parted once more to reveal the ice blue embers settled underneath, shining against the shadows. She was enticing, and pulled herself closer to him, allowing him to rove his eyes over her casual attire. A black jacket, with a furred hood protecting her long curtains of red. Her jutting curves were covered with black jeans, scuffed up at the knees and heeled boots, leather and armed with a set of knives tucked inside. Black leather gloves fitted over her hands, but her pale face was beautiful and shiny with light makeup, not enough to hide the one freckle on her left cheek. She looked perfect. She was dressed for a mission :Operation: Seduce Captain Obvious._

_"If you think I'm going to fall captive to methods, Agent Romanoff. You got another thing coming." He grounded out, narrowing his eyes to his duffle bag, and he sighed, and set his jaw. "I'm to busy for distractions."_

_She rolled her eyes at him, ire shadowed her face. "Do you stop and have a life, Rogers?"_

_"Excuse me," He responded with a bite in his tone, his cheekbones tightened as he shot an infuriated glare her way. "In case you forgot, Natasha, I don't have life." he rebuffed d_   _disdainfully._

_"Well you could," she sauntered closer, watching his chest heave under his shirt. "It's easy you go out have fun and take a few girls dancing."_

_His eyebrows crept upward angrily, "and lips protruded as he mirrored her words, "I'm not ready for dancing, Natasha. The main concerns of my life is protecting and saving lives. That's how I spent my days...I’m adapting to this new world I have been awaken into...I have no time for dames, and coffee shops." He lowered his arm, and gripped the strap of his bag. "Now, if you excuse me I have meeting at Stark Tower with Banner."_

_Natasha swiftly blocked his path, "I'm afraid I can't allow that Steve," she said with a hostile edge in her voice._

_Steve drew a deep breath summoning a measure of patience. He couldn’t read her expression, but he sensed that he had been her prime target of infiltration. He took a back aback responding to the foreboding pinch in his gut. They were alone. No Avengers or SHIELD agent, just the two of them, at least he was covered with clothes, and he was thankful he hadn't hit the showers. He was aware of her and he fought the urge to look at her. And she ambled closer to him, enough for him to catch an inhale of the fragrance cloaked over her ivory skin. It was intoxicating and distracting. Quickly, Steve averted his eyes away, setting his gaze on the exit sign._

_"What's the reason why you're here, Nat?" he questioned her motives, using a softer tempo in his unyielding voice._

_Natasha darted her eyes at him. "Do I need a reason to pay a visit with America's favored soldier." she answered nonchalantly; already two steps ahead of the game._

_"It's not a good enough answer to convince me." he said with a downhearted smile. "You're going to have to try harder."_

_"Why do you always need to be a hard ass, Rogers," she glowered at him, pointedly_

_"...because sweetie I'm not that easy with the dames. He looked at her, his lips held a faint smirk, indignantly. "No matter how beautiful they look in the dark."_

_Natasha stiffened her lips, "Sweetie," she gave a cool look, pretending to be amused. "Okay, Spangles...Since we're not going to play nice...Just remember you brought this on to yourself, Rogers."_

_Tension was growing thick between them, dangerously thick._

_Steve restrained himself from growling out his frustration. His blue eyes gained a guarded look to them. "What are you talking about?"  He questioned petulantly, his lips pressed into a firm line. He was rife with concern about her sudden countenance, it was dark and unpredictable. He knew she was invasingly decoding his emotions as his heart seized up against his chest. She had him trapped in her gaze, her paces were collective and elusive giving him the evoking sense for attack....Tasha," He instantly swallowed, his harden, ghostly blue eyes staring right through, he was lost inside her._

_"I'm really going to enjoy this," she whispered lowly, "I think you will too,"_

_"I don't need," he growled in response, his jaw clenching hard enough to watch the skin move against the indent of bone. "I can't be alone with you, Natasha." he resolutely objected, feeling his muscles protest to the heat cultivating in his blood._

_He knew she was going in for the kill, her wolfish eyes glared him down, and in a heartbeat, not even a breath she circled behind him, waited for the moment of vulnerability, and then pounced on him with feline grace; her body twirled into a contort of muscle, and arms coiled over the broad expanse of his shoulders. He was sweating rapidly, as her breasts rubbed against his pectorals, and her legs twisted as she moved liked an acrobatic dancer, agile and graceful. Her boot pressed into his knee, and arm went down his jaw, Steve was quick in defense and seized her wrist as both of their bodies locked, and his footing failed, but he didn't yield. He grunted and groaned, feeling her exposed skin touch his neck. "Natasha, this needs to stop..."_

_"Relax," she hissed, as his hand tried to pry her arm off his throat. She tilted her head downward, full and waiting lips ghosting over his.  She crushed a forceful kiss, stealing his breath away and leaving him stunned. Her hands framed over the sides of his face, fingers dug into his sideburns as she pressed wet heat hard over his lips, holding the kiss there for seconds until she felt his hands release their grip. She broke away in one surge of breath, and looked into his dilated blue eyes. She smirked.  "I'm just getting warmed up."_

_Steve licked the edges of his compromised mouth, and then he wrapped his arm over her neck, grabbed her long, scarlet locks, and sealed her lips with fierce deliver of passion._

_He kissed her until breath ceased to exist within in him._

 The sweet juices dripped over his raw throat, cooling the heat. He breathed shakily afterwards, feeling the numbness of the winter crawl over his bones and sear deeper into the marrow. The super-serum in his blood melted the ice in his veins, and his body temperature rose that always made him warmer that the average human, but right now he felt weak-diminished as dread etched deep in by his own warring conflicts, but it didn't avail.

Steve knew he had to find Natasha. He had made a vow to his own heart that he would never allow anything to happen to her, and he never broke his promises.

 


	2. Chapter 2

(Flashback)

* * *

 

Smoke permeated the air; to draw in breath was to draw in the tainted blight of chaos and death being waged upon the world by Ultron's drones. They were like locusts swarming down from the skies and preying on the crop that was humanity upon the ground. The robots were every bit as brutal as their leader as they waged their attacks. Human, mutant, man, woman, child; the machines did not discriminate—they did not show mercy.

Captain America felt like he was thrust back into the Second World War, finding himself once again in Europe, fighting an evil force hell-bent on extermination. Only this time, he wasn't sure if fighting the tide with brute force would be enough to repel this storm. Tact and ingenuity were sorely needed against their beyond intelligent foe. The consequences of Tony Stark's well-intentioned ambitions, his weapons and experiments were once again being felt around the world and this time they could lead to its doom.

Several major cities had already fallen.

London began to fall to a hellacious ruin all around Captain America…along with his teammates.

Steve felt a pit in his stomach, which was more grievous than the puncture wound to his rib, at the sight of Thor; bloodied and motionless on a pile of rubble with Mjolnir out of his reach. The synthezoid known as Vision had caused a substantial amount of damage among the team and Steve was crestfallen to find only himself standing from the attack.

That thought struck dreadful fear within him as a name came to mind: Natasha…

Steve discarded his ruined helmet and searched with wistful eyes among the ruins surrounding him in search of that familiar shade of scarlet red locks. Fires crackled nearby, obscuring his peaked vision with drops of sweat. His mind ran faster than he could force his body to as he analyzed the area and every conceivable clue as to the whereabouts of the rest of his team.

His body felt beaten and weary that holding his shield had become a burden. In the distance he could hear the noise of explosions and the chorus of screams that accompanied every war. It was a song he had become too familiar with and one he often heard in his nightmares. Steve swallowed thickly at the sight of Barton's bow with no sign of the archer anywhere.

A buzz of static sounded in his ear, reminding Steve of their radio communication. He promptly raised a hand to his ear and activated the transmission.

"Avengers…report in…anybody?" His tone was heavy and slow; lacking the assured tone that Captain America would exhibit on the battlefield. Steve gritted his teeth while inspecting the wound at his side. It was a flesh wound but deep enough to stain his uniform and gloves red.

Gloom set in the longer his search yielded no result. Fear was not an uncommon emotion for Steve Rogers since his whole life he had been acting in defiance of it. But the emotion wasn't as powerful for him then as it was now as he began to consider the grim possibility that he could be all alone out here. That the Avengers may have fallen…that Natasha…

"Ca…anyon..ear..me?" Static crackled through Steve's radio, and yet a familiar voice broke through it, invigorating his spirit with fragile hope. "This is Nat…sha. I've sp…ted th…arget. …tron...Repeat: he's here!"

"Natasha." Steve spoke into his earpiece. "This is Steve can you—"

"TARGET: CAPTAIN AMERICA."

Steve whipped his head into the air, a flare of adrenaline coming through with anticipation as the cold mechanized voices of the Ultron drones descended upon him—numbering two. Steve held his shield ready as they landed parallel to one another in front of him, blocking the clear path ahead while a wall of rubble stood at his back.

The towering robots stood easily above him, their fluorescent optics trained on him as they raised their repulsors to do the same. "IDENTIFIED: DESTROY."

Steve had his shield up and ready in an instant despite the howling stings of protest running throughout his whole body. It felt like laying on a bed of needles and the slightest of movements caused them to sink deeper to his flesh. Sheer willpower alone drove him now but he still felt his balance thrown off as two hot plasmic beams of energy slammed into his shield.

Steve gritted his teeth against the onslaught, feeling the head radiating over the edge of his shield where his face had been briefly exposed. The Ultron drones increased their distance towards the Avenger as he fell to one knee, shield still held up however his stance suggested his strength was quickly failing him.

Calculating their odds of success, the drones moved in to eliminate their target… "Eliminate, Captain Ameri—"

The two drones were thwarted as they both erupted into spasms, their repulsors falling away from their target as they were engulfed with tendrils of electricity running through their mechanical bodies. Their speech patterns became garbled and static. Steve lowered his shield and watched in astonishment. 'What happened there?'

Thinking hard and fast, he raised his shield and shoved against one of the drones. It felt like tackling a car; but his adrenaline and the strength of his shield alone where enough to send the drone falling across the cement. Once it fell over, Steve got a good look at the black devices attached to the plates of the drones that afflicted them…

Widow Bites.

'Natasha…' Steve didn't have long to ponder or search to confirm his thoughts, since the electric shocks wore off and the drones were quickly gathering themselves together. Steve felt ready this time, despite losing all feeling in his limbs after that tackle. His body was so numb that he was certain it was controlling him now. It seemed to know to exactly how to dispatch the robotic monstrosities.

Standing between them, Steve raised his shield up against the drone in front of him in time to catch the plasmic beam. The vibranium effectively deflected the energy away and into the chest plates of the second Ultron drone, searing a gaping hole into its core that caused it to explode into pieces.

'1 down…' Steve moved forward to charge with his shield. The last drone ceased its efforts with the plasma repulsors and instead engaged the super soldier with its hand-to-hand combat programming. Steve felt a winding punch against his shield nearly propelling him back onto the floor. What kept him level was a metallic hand wrapping around the edge of his shield. Steve's eyes widened once he realized the drone was attempting to pry the shield away from his grip.

"Steve!" The voice he'd been hoping to hear again reached his ears, momentarily distracting him from his tug-of-war with the drone. Steve's tired blue eyes widened at the sight of Natasha standing across the ruin, attempting to make her way towards him…

And she wasn't alone.

"Tasha!" He cried in horror. His grip slackened enough to allow the drone room to bash its metal head against his face. Steve saw stars explode in his vision; the world swam around him that he couldn't tell the difference between the ground and the sky. His head felt a light moment before the bite of pain followed. A thick wet warm substance trailed down the side of his face and he could also feel it at the edge of his mouth.

His dazed vision was blotted out by the lights of the sun… which shifted into the shapes of two bright optics glaring down at him. Steve glanced down at his life-less hands still locked tightly onto the edge of his shield as if they were glued to it.

"Accept your end, Captain America." An emotionless familiar voice floated across the ruin, alarming Natasha as she turned around and glared with widened eyes at the cause of all this death and destruction.

Ultron.

"Machines will inherit this world." He proclaimed. Steve watched in horror as Ultron seized Natasha by her neck and lifted her off the ground in a chokehold.

"No…" Steve hissed; reaching deep within and latching onto whatever vestiges of strength that remained, he lifted his shield up with the drone's grip still on it then bashed it into its own skull—repaying the favor. The world spun back into focus long enough for him to wrap his arm inside his shield, then he threw it with the remainder of his depleting strength at the drone's neck.

A loud slice of metal cutting metal echoed throughout the area as the drone's head fell to the ground followed shortly by an entire body. Steve soon followed as he collapsed hard onto his knees.

* * *

There was no escape from the inferno; flames devoured everything in the path of the heaps of debris, and Natasha sensed the evoking terror jostle through her bones. Parting her lips to scream out for help, she felt her breath strain against her lungs. Everything felt dull within her. The moments seemed like eternity underneath the charred boards imprisoning her wounded, trembling form against the piles of ash. Her skin was the color of ashen, cold and smudged with cinder as she managed to slip a bruised hand in between a space of wood and dirt. Her eyes landed on the people who had been taken prisoners by Ultron's drones, and she watched the horrors they unleashed. Mother and fathers were lined up against smudged walls with repulsors aimed at their heads; innocent people who had refused to allow their freedom to be seized by machines.

In seconds, Natasha watched as their bodies were destroyed, flesh singed with heat, blood spilled and fell to ground. It was a ruthless and inhumane sight for anyone to bear witness. She never screamed, although she wanted to, but she knew if her cries of distress had been heard she would have been terminated next by the metallic executioners.

Destruction. That was all she saw when she dared herself to steal a glance at the desolated buildings surrounding her. Toxicity had breached the crisp air, and skies were darkened from the rising ash clouds emerging from the smoldering rubble. She wanted to scream until all breath escaped her trembling form, but he wouldn't let her. The sentient creation of Tony Stark's failure to restore peace, looming over her battered body, looking down at the pools of crimson spilling from her opened wounds. He showed no mercy, just the raw power of death reflected over his metallic alloyed body.

After Ultron had spotted her, he stalked her all the way to the epic center of the ruin. Her eyes widened as she found Steve there, battered and bloodied, fighting off two drones by himself. Her instincts had taken over as she fired her Widow Bites against them both to allow Steve the advantage. She had neglected her own safety until she felt the heavy vibrations of footfalls encroaching behind her like a war drum. After a few taunting words towards Steve, Ultron had set his gaze upon her; his red optics appeared to be scanning her deepest thoughts.

"I can get inside your mind, little spider," his metallic and artificial voice droned in her ears. His metal hand squeezed the bones of her wrist as he pinned her against the broken boards, racking her bones with his force. His red optics were like thermal lasers in her vision, changeless and inorganic. Natasha showed him no weakness as his other hand coiled over her neck. "Your sins—your emotions—are a disease that must be eliminated before all becomes infected." She couldn't move, it was almost like his hollow eyes had her trapped in his terminator gaze. "Tell me, do you share the emotions like all weak insects ravaging this world or do you carry no fear?" he asked, waiting for her defiant answer. "I can see it in your eyes; you do fear death, but not yours..."

Steve.

"I'm not afraid of you," she declared, breathlessly, her back sliding over the dented hood, as she desperately tried to avert her eyes were the inorganic hands were reaching for her neck. "You're nothing but scrap metal."

His red eyes reflected into her pupils as he spoke, "False. I am beyond your comprehension…" He ensnared her and lifted her up off the ground, her small form dangling up in his grasp up high. "What life do you fear me to extinguish? How well you try to hide your emotions with falsified expressions. You seem disturbed by what happens around you and that is death, but you put on the act for your friends. Meanwhile, you are tangled in your own strings of failure..." He cocked his head in a way that she intently watched the metal neck joints swivel with each contortion. "You are…imperfect. How will you survive without hearing his voice...feeling his touch against your skin?" Natasha narrowed her eyes to the knife attached to her boot; she only had one chance of escaping from the machine. Her expression grew vacant as lines of sweat rolled down her blemished cheeks, but terror betrayed her hardened exterior as her eyes searched frantically for Steve.

"I'll survive...it's what I do." she grumbled, defensively. Her words seemed to choke out of her as his metallic digits pressed along the edges of her neck, and she felt the coldness as her muscles flexed in the wake of his invasive touch. She lifted her arm slowly up; feeling the charges of her Widow Bite gauntlets surge with the pounding of her heart. "I already died..." Her voice locked up as those words jaded her, and she knew that death was intimate.

She wanted to see him again, but in these grim circumstances, just him without the uniform and shield; Ultron had invaded her peace, neck crackled as his metallic hand tightened over her thorax. The tempest inside her hastened, and thrashed against her bones. She watched ripples of blood smear off the windshield as a constant pulse of fear drummed against her heart. When the plumes of smoke from the smoldering rubble, and husks of vehicles invaded her nostrils. She pretended to close her eyes and falsely welcomed death, as she caught a glimpse of Steve engaging a drone in the obstructed area. Never had the captain looked so brave, valiant and powerful.

He was filthy. His ruffled and golden tendrils draped over his slick forehead; sharp cheekbones smeared with ash and full lips swollen with a line of blood rolling over his chin. Dark circles of exhaustion hung around his crystal blue eyes, as he staggered to his knees, raising his right arm as the shield caught the gleam of the distant sunlight breaking through the intangible clouds. He was battered to the bone, movements unsteady and uniform torn, but he didn't give up the fight. He leveled Natasha with a shine of hope in his heavy-lidded eyes before he yelled out his exclamation as friction rose up his throat. "Ultron!" he threw his shield at the machine, metal clashed with metal as Ultron turned his head in response, glaring at Steve with his red optics. "Stand down."

"You are in no position to give me orders, Captain America," Ultron said, releasing his hold on Natasha, giving the redheaded spy time to regain her stolen breath. The machine lifted the shield, crushing the surface with the might of his hand; then, he dropped the weapon to the ground, giving Steve a chance to stare at the cracks in the alloy. "You're wounded and your shield is a pitiful piece of metal against me..." He transmitted a message to his drones; and within seconds a horde of robots crashed to ground level, encircling Steve like a wounded buck to a pack of ravaging wolves. "Bring this unworthy creation to his knees...I want to show him something beautiful."

Natasha's heart pumped with thralls of horror, "Steve," she choked out, grimacing; desperately trying to lift herself up. Ultron turned around, staring, his red optics trained on her as her mind started racing. "Get out of here..." It was too late, darkness covered the area and Steve's tall and hulking body had been beaten to within every inch of his life. Metal fists rattled his bones; dislocating sockets as she slammed her eyes shut; listening to the cracks over limbs erupt into the hazy air.

The drones clawed at his uniform, tearing the material, and scraping the raw skin with their horrendous attack as they swarmed around him; burying Steve into the suffocating horde of inorganic life. A hollow noise escaped from Ultron as he stalked closer, parting his drones and to stand towering over the battered captain with unhinged red optics. He extended his arm out slowly, catching the gleam of sunlight as he reached for Steve's neck. Natasha shivered in terror and gasped for breath as he spoke, "You're the symbol of America's strength towards fear? All I see is a worthless human clinging to chaotic ideals and truths that go against logic. The rite of order will not be denied; this world demands freedom from the sickness your kind spreads."

Despite the chaos enclosing around him, Steve managed to steal a glimpse at her, "Natasha," he spoke with a grimace contorted on his sweat drenched face. "Get out of here..." Natasha blanched and mashed her teeth into her swollen lip as one of the drones stuck a jagged spike into Steve's lower back. He grunted, but of course he hardly showed pain. The programmed drone tried again as Steve coughed up what looked to be like a pint of blood. Still defiant, Steve whirled and slammed his elbow into the center piece of the robots chest, making the metallic alloy dent. "Natasha run that's an order-"

His body jolted as he forced out sharp, and obstructive breaths. Blood trickled aimlessly from the corner of his mouth. Dread poured into his thoughts as his vision swam like a rippling tide of crimson. Spewing out water mixed with maroon, Steve managed to crawl on his punctured stomach; blood flowed aimlessly from his lips as he tried to reach for her. "Nat," he whispered, soft and broken. It was harrowing to his ears. A stab of fear penetrated his heart as he tried to say her name once again. He was heaving in wracking gasps. "...Tasha." He cried out in a staggered voice.

Natasha saw red. The world had darkened into a toxic hue of maroon. The color of blood. "No," she whispered in a hushed tone. She looked at Steve's failing weight pushing against the graveled cement. "Steve," she doubted her own hope as everything diminished within her. Fragments of her past turned into jaded shards that pierced through the barriers of her heart. She knew there were multiple angles and tough choices from which to extract the truths laid hidden within. She infiltrated the bloodiest of places, watched young children burn and become black ribbons billowing in the cold air.

She saw everything through a distorted looking glass—death and horror—it blanketed cities with plumes of devastation and slaughter. Monsters were real. They lurked in the shadows as shady men, walking behind their leaders like evil spirits waiting to be resurrected. It was a gateway of new power and constructed order—link by link—the ideals of morbid minds created a chain that would strangle any opposition. She was a part of that ugly world; a drone, heartless, soulless and programmed to terminate at all costs. The greatest weapon was the human heart—able to make choices and hold those emotions—it was either black as coal encased embers, or pure as thawing snow.

She hardly had a moment to feel those emotions stirring when Ultron had turned around, and settled his red optics on her, capturing her reflection. He reached out his metallic hand, preparing to seize her neck once again. "You need to watch and learn." he said, no emotion in his inorganic voice; no sense of empathy. He was hollow as the alloy metal framing his body. He was the commander of his own army, the pure one (the god) he had believe himself to be with a young mind that would devour knowledge and power. He was a reincarnation of the all the tyranny and obsession of the past. As sinister and deranged as those leaders, he was cold and manipulative; his ideals where driven towards human extinction. He wanted to create the master race, a new order—new image—his would be etched on the charred souls he devoured.

Natasha clenched her jaw obstinately, clutching her knife as her eyes trained on his adamantium chassis. She was prepared to kill. It was her purpose in life. She would ram the blade into the center red arc-reactor, drive it into the wiring and make the robot pay for his sentient rebellion against her teammates and friends.

Ultron froze in mid-step, sensing her tactic, his red optics locked on her as he spoke, "You are nothing to me. One by one I will destroy you humans. I will walk in your ashes and bathe in your blood. I will never tire. I will never show mercy." He tilted his head cavity down, Encephalo-beam was pulsing as he scanned his eyes over her. "I will kill everyone you love while making your hands pull the trigger." He was ready to fire the encephalo ray directly at her skull, to make her plunge into a deathlike coma as he would control the strings over her body. "You will be my hands. You will not disobey when you have orders to kill Captain America."

"No," she broke her bloodless lips apart. "I won't be controlled by a machine..."

"Then you are of no use to me..." Ultron said, raising his hand up as the repulsors vibrated with plasmic energy. "Goodbye, Agent Romanoff. Know that your death will ensure another step towards peace."

Natasha. He could feel his heart sinking in his chest and grief overwhelmed his body, clotting his blood with pints of sorrow. He loved her. "Natasha..." Steve yelled as smears of blood streaked along his jaw. He clutched his gut and staggered towards her. He sealed his eyes, pain shot through him, searing every bone, before crawling away from the drones and feeling the numbness of his feet against the solid ground. He couldn't get up to her; he could barely speak as desperate rasps of breath escaped his lips. "Ultron. Take me. Not her!" he screamed as he heart swelled the moment he made contact with Natasha. All he wanted to do was hold her close in the broad span of his arms and never let go. He tried to stand as he forced his eyes back onto the robot. "Take me..."

He released a breath of defeat, his eyes glossed with tears as he spared a glance and looked deeply at the red haired spy. He whispered out his heart's confession, honest and true, "I love you. Run and keeping on running. Don't look back..."

Listening to his words touched over the damaged layers of her soul, Natasha felt her expression turn into steel, "Rogers," she digressed lowly, aiming her knife at Ultron's back plates. One hard jab would slice the weak spots. One course to save him. She felt desecrated. Her heart was compromised.

"Eat steel..."Natasha seethed through clenched teeth, and then flipped herself up, swinging her arm to the robot. Her emotions were strong enough to control her actions, the sense of fear had fleeted out of her veins. She kept on staring at Steve, trying to focus on the danger that stood around them, but the cacophony of dread seized her, weaving her defiance into a tight knot until it squeezed tears out of her eyes. Death was not an option.

Ultron glared down at the knife held in her firm grasp. "Your defiance, I find, is illogical."

"Natasha, stand down!" the Captain yelled out a warning, panic had etched into his struggling voice. He gritted his teeth. "Retreat, soldier..."

She shook her head, stubbornly. Her eyes screwed shut and sh felt blood pounding in her ears, the ground was sinking beneath her feet. Fear clawed at her, rabid and penetrating inside her bones, scarring her flesh with pain, she could feel her chest muscles constrict, breath ceased to exist in her lungs as words exploded out of her lips, "I'm not leaving without you, Steve."

The gravity of her words, lulled him to stand on his full height of six-two inches, and he towered over the drones blocking his path; glaring them down with unnerving embers of blue fire.

Then a flash of red blinded her vision and Steve went down hard.

Fleeting tears betrayed her eyes as desperate words implored him to come back to her, to keep fighting. She didn't want him to abandon her. "Steve..."

He wasn't moving. His chest scorched with red smoldering gashes of oozing blood. He was fading. Her pure light against the darkness was only a flicker as smoke residue of the blast swallowed his body.

Natasha watched the drones lift him up, hauling his massive and broken form away; towards the shipping docks. The water was going to become his grave.

"Come back to me..."


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

 

_I love you. Run and keeping on running. Don't look back..._

"Steve..."

Ultron trained his red optics on her and reached out his metal hand to grab her throat. "I think I have proven to the illogical truths that humanity will not prevail...You are weak and so easy to extract from this world." He moved closer and narrowed his repulsar gauntlet at her heaving and exposed chest. Smudges of blood stained the ivory skin as haze of crimson light reflected over her leather combat suit.

As a SHIELD agent and former KGB assassin, she main instinct was to fight off the robotic eliminator standing a breath from her trembling form. She could utilize her Widow Bites-it seemed reverent now, since he was preparing to fire a blast into her chest. It was ironic to Natasha, after all those years of being shot at, imprisoned in the Red Room and tortured by inhumane hands of the darkest of Russia's demons this was how death would claim her-the infamous Black Widow.

The sleek metal hands caresses over the hollow space between her neck and jaw, almost like he was taking her pulse. Natasha gritted her teeth, tasting the blood leak over her paled lips. She whispered out a ghost of a curse to herself.  _Fight. Show no weakness. Distract. Get out of here. Run._

"Nat," she heard the familiar and brash voice of Clint Barton break through the dulling buzzing of her ears. Her comlink was still functional. A trick arrow shot into the smoky air, and flashed bombed a bright light. A necessary distraction.

"Run...Dance with me later...You need to get out of here, Nat " He insisted, using the code word of deception bring her back to the past ...Ballet...The Red Room. He was giving Natasha a way out before she would become a pile of smoldering ash.

Clint was crouched down in the shadows on an unoccupied building. He had gained leverage on a window sill, on foot poised on a dresser. He observing the swirling abyss of frothing smoke, embers of rising flames and chaos below. His heart swelled in his chest, staring at Natasha's body through the scope of his bow with his grayish hawk eyes he spied the cleared area within reach and trained his enraged vision on Ultron.

The stench of dried blood and gasoline prickled his nose as he drew his arm back, aiming the arrow at the weak point of entry in the android's torso. He breathed heavily through clenched teeth, jaw tensed as lines of sweat rolled from his temples. When he saw the maroon stain on Natasha's skin. His eyes snapped shut and released the arrow into the murky clouds shrouding over him."I'll cover you."

Natasha's hazed green eyes looked up at the black arrow and she sucked in a breath. Fear struck her, and she pressed the com, and her heart slumped. "Clint, you have to abort this mission...I can't lose my good partner...I've already lost so many...Don't ditch me, Barton."

"Easy. Tasha," Clint whispered, holding a taut smirk. The arrow landed in front of Ultron; he'd purposely missed as smoke fizzed from the a small device, covering the area-he gave her protection. It felt like any other mission. He was trained. He'd killed dozens of people. A robot was just a practice dummy for combat training. It wasn't human...Stark created an easy target for him to shoot at...Or so it would have seemed. "I'm not going anywhere, Nat...Now move your ass out of clear so I can do what I do best..."

"Clint..."

Awareness. It made all panic dissolve in her blood. Fear flushed out of her body. Something begun to grow deep inside her core. Natasha received her orders from her partner-her wing man and shadow and she dared an indignant glance up at Utlron-a drone of science-a target for elimination.

Natasha prodded her tongue over her split lip, catching a taste of blood as his cold metal hand left her clammy skin and red optics pointed down at the arrow.

"Toys," he said in a cold and vacant voice, grabbing the projectile and pulling it down of the mound of dirt. "Pathetic excuses of defenses from humanity."

Natasha instantly wore the semblance of meekness, her infamous trademark method of getting information. She had to put on the act to distract the robot enough before she would ensnare his secret weakness. Manipulation was always her tactic of infiltration, they blended well together. Release a sharp gasp as she felt his finger's pinch her skin, Natasha leveled her feverish green eyes to the humanoid weapon. She had to wait until he reached her level again.

"Hold still," Ultron executed in a emotionless ting in his hollow vocalization. He was unprepared enough to approach her, walking into her woven web.

She twisted her head around, refusing the tightness encompassing her clammy skin. She had beaten him once. Years back when she received liberated from the hellish blight of the KBG. She survived by staying awaken when others went to sleep. Running and running. Lying. And then she found her way out, and changed her name-erased the sins of her past and rectified with certain loose ends. She was the Black Widow. The ruthless and cunning spider who ensnared her prey into the weaves of manipulation. After she used them and drained them dry from information, she left her bite -a numbing sting of malice as reminder that lethal poison flowed in her veins.

Today, wasn't going to be her end game.

"So why don't just make me bleed, take my life and add more red on your ledger?" She played out with a edge in her low voice, Ultron swiveled his head and met her obscured eyes. She gave him a weak smirk. "Come on, make an example of me...I have a high pain tolerance." she spoke, using a challenge in her sultry tone. "You can send your boys over here and we'll have a party-" She froze at the moment her comlink buzzed and Clint told her what direction to take. She knew that Steve-Captain America was close in proximity of his last location. Alive...barely. She had to find him.

Ultron snatched up her jaw violently and and hoisted her up and then sent her sloshing to the ground-whimpering and glaring in agony as every bone in her lithe body felt the impact. "Weak and a sore excuse for a human..." Ultron spat poisonously, reaching to yank and rip out her red curls. "I broke the super-solider and I will make no mistake of ripping you apart."

'Natasha!" Clint roared in desperation, firing his arrows at the robot, creating another hindrance. He breathed out a ragged breath, his eyes scanning over scattered pieces of Steve's shield encompassed by ash. The Avengers were falling apart. Scattered to the winds. They needed to regroup far away from the battle zone. They needed to find connection again-their survival depended on trust and confidence in each other. He looked down at Natasha-his partner and friend and yelled out at the top of his lungs, not caring how much strain was pressured on his chest. "Get the hell out of here..."

The Russian spy was on the brink of having a panic attack, heart pounded lividly against her bruised ribs. She was gasping rapidly, fast, wild and shallowly. Her skull pounded like a hammer drove a nail into the bone at every second Ultron's inorganic gaze of red scanned over her like a laser pointer attached to a scoped assault rifle.

_Run...Don't look back._

Swallowing down the blood dribbling over the walls of her perched throat, Natasha started scrambling to her feet hyberaware of the situation, disorientated and stumbled over debris, but Ultron seized her collar by his metal hand and threw her with direct force against a pile of stone, her skull smacked hard, and a gob of blood escaped from her opened lips. She grasped for a sharp intake of breath, and managed to look up at Clint, her sea-green eyes wide and manic , and effortlessly released a strangled cry from her parted lips of submission. The heated spectrum of molten red coated over her dimming vision as she turned her teary eyes to the direction of the water, stroking her battered hand over the opened wound on her right side. The only clear thing she saw was blood running out of her.

"Come on, Steve...Don't leave us...Don't leave me..." She sobbed with frantic heartbeats, her voice full of vitriol and dread.

"There you are," Ultron boomed aloud, twisting his hand over her pulsing neck, rattling the fragile bones as she screeched out painful cries and then he dragged her over the shards of Captain America's destroyed shield, allowing the sharpened and jagged pieces to pierce into her legs as he sent the radio transmission to his functioning sentries -ordering the metallic drones to take down Clint.

Natasha writhed against the hold, trying to break free, but Ultron's chrome hand squeezed tighter-almost suffocating her until she felt her life slowly drain out of her weakened body. Her hearing dulled against the cries of citizens and deafening sounds of explosions penetrated deep into the marrow of her jostled bones until she felt numb and was thrown over graveled stone next to a laden body. Her hand flailed over dark blue Kevlar and red and white embossed material-it was Captain Rogers-her щит(shield). She gasped in tantalizing shock.

"No!" Natasha whined. "Steve!" She cried. "Get up, Rogers!" She shook him restrictively. "Don't abandon us..." Natasha lifted her belly off the ground, nuzzling closer to his body, trying to assure herself that he was alive as she pressed her frame against him, basking in the comforting heat that was slowly leaving. "Please, Steve, I-I..." Her eyes closed, the walls of restraint crumbled and hidden emotions pouring forth, "...I can't lose you...She buried her face into his chest-her unashamed tears and blood drizzled over the star.

"Nat..." His collapsing voice lulled Natasha to lift her head off his chest, and she looked at the pale white sheet of skin of his chiseled face, his blood smeared lips. He was dying, just an echo of his former himself was trapped in her glistening pools of green. He was giving up the fight-entering his last throes of life.

"I'm here, Steve," she choked up, tracing her shaking fingers along the razor edges of his cheekbones. He garbled out a few breaths, maroon trickled over his bruised jaw as his blue eyes stared up at her. "Everything is going to be fine," she lied, feeling the cold presence of Ultron a few inches behind them. Death was certain. "We're going to make back home...I need you to be strong for me..." With that, her hands framed over his battered features and Natasha gently lowered her lips, still soft and warm with the sensation of blood pumping against the cushioned flesh and sealed them over Steve's still and marred up ones.

As Natasha's lips were attached to Steve's she listened to the sound of a metallic weaponry closing in on her, but she never broke her lips away until she was yanked back and forced to watch him sink into the cold waters as only ripples of dark and pure blood-his legacy lingered of the flopping waves below the docks.

Her heart shattered into jaded shards just like his shield.

"Steve..."

* * *

 

3 months later…

At the edge of a small town, West Coast of Ireland.

The smell of salt and seawater calmed the senses of a solitary figure, standing beside a parked motorcycle at the edge of a deserted road. His visage was hidden beneath the hood of a black sweatshirt. Any that may have passed by him would have mistaken him for a hitchhiker or a wanderer in search of the unknown. Those that paused long enough to assess him could see the command in his posture that he wore like a second skin; setting him apart from the norm.

Deep blue eyes stared out across the quiet seas, gazing far beyond what they could see; wistful and remorseful for what lay ahead. Echoes played at the back of his mind, both haunting and invigorating in the pain they brought. It not only brought him fear but also growth to overcome greater obstacles ahead of him.

In his hands, he held a phone that broadcasted a message from a worldwide news channel. Each word increased his hardened exterior.

"As we now enter the eighth week since the end of the Ultron threat, rebuilding efforts continue throughout major cities as police, firemen, construction workers and what remains of the Avengers continue to search for survivors among the ruins. While there is still public support for Earth's Mightiest Heroes, talk on Capitol Hill does not bode well for the superhero team led by world renown philanthropist: Tony Stark aka Iron Man, who has fallen under heavy scrutiny for his rumored involvement in the creation of the Ultron threat."

"There have been several concerns about lack of over-sight and accountability as the death toll has been estimated just over five hundred thousand, with billions of dollars in property damage. Anti-Avengers and superhuman protesters have gathered around both Avengers Tower and the U.S. Capitol, many of them wondering if they are able to trust this superhero team whose leader has not only taken in two mutants, but was in part responsible for the devastation waged across the globe."

"A month ago there were rumors of definitive action circulating among members of a senate subcommittee. With the rapid increase of mutant and superhuman individuals throughout the world, the Ultron incident and the damage and loss of life sustained throughout the world, talks have proceeded for a proposed Superhuman Registration Act that many believe will help reign in the chaos and activities of these unchecked individuals."

"When reached for comment, Tony Stark's press secretary has stated he is indeed headed to Washington next week to answer his support for the SRA. Stark Industries has already donated billions for the relief effort, and with public opinion split, his endorsement could go a long way in regaining the public's trust. There are those among the superhumans however who have already spoken out against his decision. There are many unanswered questions as dissension has already been reputed among the Avengers with the disappearances of Thor, Captain America and the Black Wid—"

The man turned off his phone, a heavy breath escaping through his flared nostrils. Flames of disquiet had begun to stoke within him and they threatened to distract him from his initial objective. Lifting a large gloved hand, he removed his hood, exposing the cool benign visage of Steve Rogers; known to the world as Captain America.

It had been a tiresome and relentless period of searching across Europe since he had first awoken aboard a cargo ship bound for Venice. He was cold and in numbing pain, but he was mostly confused as to why he was stowed away like a piece of luggage instead of being…dead, or dying upon the battlefield where Ultron had him at his mercy. He remembered the stinging despair of defeat in his bones when he had been surrounded.

And Natasha…

He closed his eyes, a shaky exhale escaping his parted lips.

It hadn't been long then until his memory returned and he remembered how he had survived, and how he had wound up stowed away on a cargo ship. Part of him expected the end to have finally arrived for him; ready to pluck him away from the battlefield and into what he prayed to be an afterlife of peace. What came instead was help from the most unexpected of places.

The echoes of thunderous gunfire reverberated at the back of his mind. At the end of each sound came the surprising liberating image of a dark haired assassin—wearing black goggles and a Kevlar mask—standing across the battlefield, taking down the Ultron drones with an unidentifiable weapon that reduced them to piles of scrap upon the floor. Ultron himself was mysteriously absent. The familiar assassin approached him, his long dark locks blowing in the wind.

Steve had struggled to open his mouth and call out his name, but his strength was failing him. His swimming vision locked onto Natasha's beaten and motionless form laying upon the ground; still strong and still beautiful despite the clutter of chaos surrounding them. As his hand reached out for hers, darkness took him; the last thing he could feel was a metal hand lifting him off the ground to safety. Spirited away from the battlefield, from the chaos…from Natasha.

By the time he had awoken hours later on a cargo ship among a group of astonished evacuees, the Ultron threat had been neutralized and he had no means of getting back. The battle far from him, the fate of his team a mystery, he could only wait idly as his presence offered the vessel of frightened civilians a measure of reassurance. He had made contact with his team shortly after only to tell them he wasn't coming back.

He wanted to return to them; he wanted to return to Natasha once he found out she was alive. The feeling was powerful as a magnet drawing him in… But he stayed away. Anger still festered inside of him at Tony Stark's preemptive actions that led to the loss of thousands of lives, and that soured the reputations of brave men and women who stood up to defend innocent lives. Men and women who were now at risk of losing their civil liberties.

He believed his absence would be better for the team. He and Stark wouldn't buttheads with one another over what they thought was best, and attention might be diverted off of them and onto him. That's what he told himself. But he mostly stayed away because he had felt defeated. He'd failed a partner once before…he couldn't stand to fail others again.

So he remained distant…until he found out she had disappeared.

Natasha had disappeared again, he'd learned.

That knowledge worried him. It was not the first time she left to assume a new identity, but he knew that the battle with Ultron had hit her harder than she would allow others to think. Natasha wore a mask that hid her emotions better than Iron Man's, but even her toughened exterior showed cracks when she was forced to confront the dark memories of her past. Memories more horrific than any nightmare could be. The thought struck him harder than Thor's hammer.

Natasha was alone out there and he needed to find her.

He knew she wouldn't be in America. Like him, she'd be far away from the team and the politics that were now beginning to threaten people like themselves. She also wouldn't be anywhere near London where they had nearly met their untimely ends at the hands of Ultron.

Steve still kept in contact with Sam and Clint who let him know anything that might be useful towards Natasha's whereabouts. For almost two months now, Steve had been searching for the master spy across countries from Russia, to France, Germany and Italy. He never stayed searching in one place longer than a week before moving on.

Until now, his search had yielded no results or leads.

After receiving a reliable tip over a week ago, his search brought him to a small town outside of Dublin, Ireland. It was a pretty quiet and remote area with low media coverage. It was the last place he would have expected to find anything relating to her but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. If Natasha was trying to hide, this would be a very good place.

As Steve searched throughout inns and other large establishments that were frequented, very few of the locals recognized him, and those that did weren't enough to cause a stir. Despite the ease of which he was able to move about the town, he still found no sign of her. A pit had begun to form in his gut; a pit which increased in size with each day that went without finding her.

By the sixth day before he planned to move on to the next city, Steve had decided to stop by the local tavern. He couldn't get drunk anymore, but his thirst couldn't be argued with. Upon entering the not-so-seedy establishment, above the smell of cigarettes and liquor, a familiar floral fragrance touched his nose, inducing a storm of memories and feelings inside of him that sent his heart-racing in his chest. It was the intoxicating scent of Krasnaya Moskva, a Russian perfume that he could only associate with one person.

Discreetly he had continued into the tavern with a hood over his head to hide himself among the patrons. His keen eyes had wandered, scanning the interior from the customers drinking at the tables and bar counter—watching what appeared to be a soccer game on tv—to the waitresses serving drinks, until finally his eyes landed behind the counter.

He remembered his body having frozen on the spot with his blood running hotly in his veins; his heart thumped against his chest loud enough that he could hear it in his ears. All once he spotted a head of fiery red locks, framing an angelic face with green orbs that led to her soul.

He had found her…

And yet he didn't. The perky woman serving drinks behind the counter with a bright smile, twinkling eyes, speaking with an Irish accent and wearing a green apron around her white shirt looked anything but like the woman he left behind in London. And yet there she was. Serving drinks to eager customers with an enthusiasm that made it seem like she was never in a warzone months ago, close to being eradicated by a genocidal robot.

As confusion waged inside of him, it occurred to him suddenly that all of this…it was all her act; her way of blending in, her way of hiding. She was an expert at deception and if he hadn't known her well enough, he wouldn't have suspected her in the least.

Despite having stood still like a deer in the headlights, his blue orbs drank in the sight of her. She didn't appear to have noticed his presence or if she did, she was purposely ignoring him. Steve wasn't sure. What he was certain of was that if she went to such lengths to hide, then he himself approaching her now would definitely spark unwanted attention.

As he watched her dainty hands holding a glass in her hand beneath the tap, filling it to the rim for a paying customer, Steve decided to quietly make his exit and wait. Forcing himself to turn on his heel and walking out the door was harder than trying to lift Thor's hammer. The pit in his stomach that momentarily closed had slowly begun to reopen with each step he took.

He only had to wait a couple of hours before he watched the familiar redhead walk out of the tavern and enter a parked black car. As he watched her pull away, he revved up his motorcycle and slow began following her. The drive lasted a half-hour and brought him out to a private house at the coast with a breathtaking view of the sea.

Which brought him where he was now. Standing half-a mile away from her front door, his sweater removed and standing in his full Captain America ensemble…frozen and uncertain.

* * *

{Present}

"Nothing last forever," Natasha said in a low murmur; standing in front of a scuffed up vanity in front of a frosted window. The bedroom was vacant, but memories still lingered. She had reached an impasse between choice and instinct; her past somehow traced her back into the dimness of morning light. She clicked her boots against the tarnished hardwood, listening to the creaks of the floorboards as she froze in her steps, narrowing her eyes to a small music box left on the dresser that must have belonged to a child.

_Gasping, Natalia tried to avert her head away, but the invisible force of terror kept her frozen; she had become a prisoner bone wary- and bruised from the horrors her innocence witnessed. It was hell. The stench of spilled blood scattered through the air masses and invaded her nose making her stomach churn with each exhaled that managed to escape from her colorless lips. Fumbling over the jagged pieces of leveled foundations of orphanage; she crawled on her belly, feeling the pressure of the crushed stone penetrate against her frail limbs; but she didn't fret about the pain coursing in her veins, she had to escape before the demons grabbed hold of her._

_Finally she was welcomed to the embrace of light caressing over her shivering and ash smeared complexion._

_"Natalia," a familiar a child's voice, with a brush of Russian had called out her name. The sound of desperation echoed over the desolated fenced in structure in the heart of Stalingrad, near the banks of the Grand River Volga. Her blue reflected the gleams of the sparking waters as the thundering blasts of artillery resounded in the ashen haze engulfing around her. Heart flipped-flopped into her stomach as she searched frantically, and tried not to focus on body of nurse lying on the ground bathing in a pool of blood. "Natalia, where are you?"_

_A little girl with long auburn hair climbed over the mounds of brick, her clothing torn and exposed skin raw with redden scrapes. Frail body, hardly much to look at, except for her piercing gray- cerulean eyes; she was the only who had befriend the red haired girl trapped in the barricade of metal stripping and charred rafters. She was a little sister, a shadow who followed Natalia through the halls of the orphanage, and sought comfort through the devastation of warfare. They had become blood sisters; fighters and survivors. Disregarded and taken away from their parents' as they had been forced to watch the reformers of the homeland line up against a wall (shooting gallery), and watch countless bullets from German machine guns reach the surface of their blindfolded heads, and make their bodies jerk as sparks flew and blood spattered.  
_

_"Kira," Natalia gurgled in a sharp gasped, a line of blood trickled down her ashen cheek. She felt the sickening torrent of blood pour from her wound; spilling over her tattered clothing, Bright, wet red smeared from her damaged side, instinctively she pressed her hand over the gaping wound, and whimpered, "You need to get out here...If they find you..."_

_Kira was there at her side in a heartbeat, skidding on her knees as she tried to gather the details of the situation. She placed her bloodied hand on Natalia's shoulder; listening to the little cough sputter from the other girl's paled lips._

_"No," Natalia sobbed. Her body twitched, as labor breathing heaving from her chest, but she knew her friend's stubbornness. "You can't leave me..."_

_"It's okay, Natalia, I've got you..." Kira assured, in a muzzy voice, not strong enough to douse out her own dread. She ripped a sleeve of her jacket off, using the piece to wipe away the splotches blood off of Natalia's forehead. Her emotions suddenly became catatonic, as if she was under a curse and completely frozen as the intrusion of enemy fire cascaded around them. "I'm here. The monsters are gone."_

_Natalia shook her head, blundering her words "They're coming back," she warned, softly, voice broken. She jabbed her palms into Kira's narrow chest. Her gray eyes coated with tears. She bit her lip and started to twinge."They're going to kill us, Kira..."_

_Kira looked up, staring at the men in black leather, shiny uniforms with red symbols wrapped over their left shoulders engaging closer them. Her heart flopped, and plummeted into her stomach. They were prowling towards them, one man had a large potato sack slung over his shoulder as he drew out rope from his pocket. Quickly, and breathless as she looked down at Natalia, her sister, and clasped her hand over the red haired girl's wrist, "Run, and never look back."_

_"I won't leave you, Kira," Natalia whispered, feeling the hollow cries whack against her chest. A tear slipped down her blemished cheek. She rattled Kira's shoulder. "Do abandon me...We made a promise...Do break it." she commanded as a German soldier encroached behind her, but Kira rose up, and stood in front of her, shielding her from the danger. "No..." she screamed as the gun went off, dulling her ears. "Kira!"_

_Her teeth sunk into her tongue as she watched the soldiers grab Kira's wounded body, she was barely alive, the bullet was lodged in her right shoulder, and they didn't display no compassion, just stuffed her friend into the sack, and spoke harshly with the utmost of brutality, before seizing her, yanking her arms up, tying rope over her wrists. "Do as we say and you will live..." one barked at her._

_Natalia tasted the copper tang of blood sloshing in her mouth, she didn't understand their German tongue, but she responded with a nod. She fixed her eyes on the still form of Kira. "What's going to happen to her?" she screamed out, trying to reach for her best friend. "Will she live?"_

_They snickered, and growled back, emotionless, "She is no longer your concern, little girl."_

_A bash on the head, Natalia recoiled in pain, vision blurred everything around; darkness bounded her, shrinking inward, enveloping the spinning world until nothing remained, just pure blackness and the warmth of tears as she blared out, "Kira..."_

Cautiously, she lifted the rectangular box, and looked intently at the engrave of two roses, faded with age, but she could still make out the pattern before she flipped up the clasp, and stared at the tiny ballerina figurine attached to the metal spring. The dancer was elegant, paint had chipped away from its legs, but detail on the face still held a shine against the shafts of gray light streaming from the cracked window, but it was fading from misuse and neglect. The fabric of the dress was white with pink ribbon; and behind the figurine was a oval shape mirror, covered with grime but the glass still held reflection.  

_I'm a dancer._

 The shadows grew thick around her, with the heavy fall outside there was only gray light shining in the depth of her grayish-green eyes and coldness encompassed over her lips. Pain surged in her heart, pounding and pounding against the bones of her ribs. She didn’t register the tense in her side at first, but she tasted the blood trickling down her strained throat. She swallowed thickly, and parted her lips, releasing a unsteady breath. She entered the place she never allowed herself to crawl back into--her past.

_Everything was a shade of monotonous gray, extraction of light._

_Huddled in a corner inside a dull bunk room, feeling the murky water of rusted pipes drip over her blemished skin, Natalia felt surrounded by demons. The room was four cement walls with a red flashing beacon mounted above the doorway. The structure was crumbling stone covered with overgrowth of grime and neglect  and stagnant water coated the floor, a glossy layer of dampness sitting on a gray surface. Splotches of maroon still lingered in the cracks--giving her the impression that was spilled blood from the tortures._

_The atmosphere in room was cold and dank and the air carried a lingering stench of death. She tucked her knees close to her chest, feeling the constrict of muscles seize every ounce of strength her small body could produce in those moments when her skin turned to ice. If she closed her eyes all the invaded her vision was violent flashes of red turning into weaving threads with a massive spider in center of a building web above puddles of blood. She parted her chilled lips to scream, but only a muffled whimper cracked out of her throat. "Ivan..."_

_It was the name of her adoptive father, the man that raised her after she had been deserted from her birth parents. He loved her as his own daughter, giving her a sense of acceptance, attachment and a home._

_Nothing last, and she was soon put on a train, away from the banks of the Grand River Volga, and sent into a school for dancers. She felt abandoned by Ivan. Her life was thrown back into the dark pools of uncertainty. She felt the stirrings of dread in her stomach as she was led inside a old brownstone building, the grimy windows broken, floorboards neglected with dust and emptiness. It was to become her home, a place of refugee and discipline. Young Russian orphans were sent to the haven for protection and training to become dancers-_   _twirling on their toes, aligning perfection and balance with single movements of grace -ballerinas. Ar first, Natalia thought it was a dream come true, Ivan gave her a purpose in life, and blessed her childhood desires -it was all just a performance as she soon found herself standing on the knife edge between order and chaos._

_Ballet was deceptive word to hide the true meaning of submission and pain...lots of pain._

_Assimilation._

_The creaking of steel unlatching in the darkness, lulled Natalia to snap her eyes open as the haze of chloroform still disoriented her vision. She believed this was the end. All those young dancers she befriended no longer existed--only pieces of clothing scraps in heaps remained of them. It was a form of subjection to death--to become scarred and belittled by tactics of fear her captors used to discipline  and mold her into a hollow frame of flesh and bone. She couldn't remember fighting, she couldn't even remember screaming out names of friends--impermanent ghosts._

_She was stiff with fear and too shock to emit anything more than a silent whimper--a strangled plea of  breakable capitulation._

_There was a white light. Her vision exploded with flecks of red spasms invading her mind, it was a bleary haze, spotted with darkened specks. The world flashed  as she blinked and her head throbbed with pulsating thralls of confusion. Her ears were dulled as if some plugged cotton to block out the encroaching sounds of Russian voices murmuring in the sables of darkness._

_'Subject has shown resistance to the serum. It was be extraction from an internal organ  to solidify with blood compounds.'_

_The stirring of voices  coercing behind the walls made a harrowing sense of dread split through her strained chest. She was incoherent to listen. Everything was numb. Her blood lucid in her veins. She wanted to run...To never look back._

_'She is young and defenseless...She holds nothing back. It will be easy to break her.'...She will not disappoint us...Not like the other ones.'_

_Panic_ _seized her, and she moved her thinned body, twisting muscles with graceful movements she obtained from her dance sessions back on the stage. Then before she felt the shackles break against her ankles--footsteps pounded on the floor and she was hoisted up,  gloved hands secured her back and light strobe into her dilated green eyes. "No," she wheezed, breath was being squeezed out of her lungs as the figure placed her body flat on a operating table. Her bones jolted as cold steel caressed her exposed skin--she was a feverish mess of sweat and tears. ""_ Я не хочу , чтобы die..Ivan..Help me..Help меня!"

_She jerked her body, jabbed her fist into a man's chin as shackles clasped over her wrists--she rattled against the metal only to discover that the fight severed her no justice or freedom: it only made her heart speed up._

_A cold and hollow chuckle buffeted over her paled skin. She dared a look and became ensnared into deaden eyes of a merciless phantom dressed in a white lab coat. At first he was a smudge, but as she blinked the wetness from her eyes she knew he was a stranger-a doctor preparing for an operation._

_"Tell me, child are you comfortable?"_

_She frantically looked around, training her eyes on medical carts and surgical instruments, allline up over blue paper--various scalpels, graspers such as_  forceps, trocars, rasps and retractor used to spread open tissue. There was also a collection of vials of blood--labeled with red and blue stars on medial tape.

_It was horror factory._

_"You may feel  some momentary discomfort..."_

_Her breath grew heavier and erratic , and skin turned into a hue of ghost white as she couldn't unyielding her eyes off of the needle held in the man's latex hand, squirting out unidentifiable fluid._

_"Is there anything you wish to tell your little friends in case you don't survive?"_

_Natalia felt her teeth chatter as her went owlish when the needle punctured the small and stubborn vein in her forearm. Her bloodless lips moved as she managed to expel out uncontrollable tears that drenched her scarlet curls. "We have no place in this world...."_

___ _


End file.
